


Engulfed

by Oparu



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Absolute fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6338398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Han's half asleep when Leia comes home, and on nights like that, she's the big spoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Engulfed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hanorganaas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanorganaas/gifts).



> for the fabulous TheLadyMore, who is so fun to talk headcanons with.

He can sleep through a Wookiee snoring, but not her coming home. She sets down data readers, takes off her shoes and makes tea. None of it loud, all thoughtful, considered motions. It would be simple to sleep through it, she’s quiet, but- and it’s not a Force thing- when she’s home he knows, and that drags him awake. Not fully conscious. It’s the semi-conscious of listening to the engines on the Falcon when they’ve been untrustworthy and he needs to make sure they’re going to be okay. 

They are. Leia works too much, she’d say not enough, because the government is newborn and the war is still fresh, and she can’t stop, even though it would be nice if they had dinner together more than once a week. 

This is temporary, and it’s better than war, because now she comes home. He doesn’t meet her in control rooms with caf, or food, because if she’s not going to sleep, she might as well eat. She has aides to do that now, but he picks food better. Most of the time, she can come home, because the Republic will still need to be built tomorrow. They aren’t running. 

They’ve won. 

She fusses with a few things, takes down her hair, brushing out her braids. The soft swish of her hairbrush gives way to her feet padding around as she sets out her clothing for the next day. He never does that. He still has a handful of shirts and trousers and he rotates them around unless he needs one of the outfits Leia has deemed suitable for fine occaisions. Those have another part of the closet. If he needs one of those, he also needs advanced warning, to make sure all the parts are right. 

He never thought about color, or cut, maybe if it was a con and he had to look good, but he never needed to know how one type of cuffs needs another type of jacket, because his clothes were practical. Sometimes they were whatever he had. He’s learning, he listens when Leia explains how Coruscant fashion is more complex than Alderaan was, but as her husband, no one will mind if he honors her world. It’s frivolous, and isn’t, because her eyes get a little soft when he wears the right jacket that looks like home. 

The New Republic can’t be a mishmash of warriors and rebels. They need to be respectable; respect themselves. Have history that isn’t just the recounting of battles fought and lives lost. 

His contribution is to their growing closet is the pieces of jewelry he’s been able to find, some replicas based on old holos, but some genuine, real Alderaan stones, like the cufflinks that are for the very best occasions, because they’re her father’s. He sometimes grins at the idea of Bail Organa, Viceroy and Senator of a whole planet handing his cufflinks to a nobody, a pirate, a smuggler. Leia thinks they would have gotten along and that’s hard to imagine, though some respectable types have liked him. There’s a planet or two where he’s respected. 

On this planet he’s a war hero sometimes, and that guy who looks pretty good next to the princess most of the time. He can’t really mind that, because he does look pretty good, fancied up in an Alderaanian tux, and Leia always looks radiant. 

She must have found something for tomorrow, because Leia crawls into bed next to him, lifting the blankets and wriggling herself in. In her absence, he’s drifted to the center of the bed, so she slips closer like she’s pulled by his gravity, her feet wrapping into and around his. Leia’s naked tonight, judging by the heat of her skin. He sighs as her cool breasts press against his back. 

“Senate finally let you go?” He mutters, refusing to open his eyes. 

Leia kisses the back of his neck, wrapping her arms around his chest. “Mon Mothma decided to adjourn until tomorrow after Senator Sul Vass fell asleep in her chair.” She snuggles closer, her legs up against his, half-tangled. Her breathing slows, and her fingers trail over his chest. It always takes her time to fall asleep, for her brain to stop, and sometimes they spend that time together, doing more pleasant things. She’ll kiss his neck, then his back, and hi her fingers start playing with his stomach, then she’s still awake. 

Tonight, she cuddles, curling close. He steals her hand and kisses her fingers. She strokes his cheek. 

“I’m sorry I woke you.”

“‘m not,” he mumbles. “I mean, you did, but, I like it.” 

“You like it?”

“You hum when you make tea, and there’s a song that’s always in your head when you do your hair, and it’s nice.” He turns his head back and her mouth finds his. “So’s that.” 

Leia chuckles and settles against him, warm, small, and blissfully naked. Maybe in the morning they’ll--

Han holds her hand over his heart and smiles. Yeah, in the morning. 


End file.
